


Wanderlust

by ElizaStyx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Admiration, Ambience, Angst, Beauty Praise, Dark Past, Dead Family, Drawing, Hiking, Journey, Love, M/M, Melancholy, Non-Graphic Smut, Running Away, Sad Vibe, Secrets, Storytelling, Travel, Wanderlust, Writing, hidden past, illustrator!Dean, lyrical, tragic backstory, vengeance, wanderer!Dean, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaStyx/pseuds/ElizaStyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is always on the move; the world is his home now and he never stays in one place for long, travelling across the States and painting his memories with the pastels that are his only reminescence of home.<br/>One morning he meets Castiel, a writer who is a wayfarer just like him, searching for an inspiration on the long empty roads, by the wild rivers and underneath the old trees.<br/>Castiel wanders towards an unknown destination, Dean is running away from what he knows too well. Their paths were meant to cross but... will they also stay one forever?<br/>*CURRENTLY ON HIATUS, I'll be back to writing this when the winter ends*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderlust

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for future chapters. Respectable trigger warnings will be added later and always mentioned in the notes. This story is going to have a pretty tranquill and melancholic vibe with an ending you might find different from what you could expect. I feel it is only fair to warn you before you invest in it: if I were to describe the last chapter of this story with one word, I wouldn't choose _happy_. I would say it's... _hopeful_.  
>  There is always something sad about hope.

This specific morning was no different from all of those he had spent on the road. The sun was rising slowly, so reluctant to go up that Dean Winchester was already approaching the next gas station on his way before it came high enough to give any warmth to the autumnal land.  
His night wasn't the easiest one so far as the cold had reached him through the thin walls of the tent and woke him up, not letting him go back to sleep.  
Everything was still bearable though because it was definitely worth it.

The grey asphalt road he was walking down, looked simply stunning in the grey light of the dawn, old trees towering over it on its both sides, their leaves dark green and less lively than in spring, their beauty more distant at such an early hour.

Dean wished he wasn't so hungry and could actually stop for a while to draw their majestic silhouettes.

Not a single car had passed him since he had gone out of the calm silence of the forest to move on and start a new day of his neverending journey. The gas station he was approaching would seem as abandoned as the road if not for the subtle movement visible from behind the dusty windows.  
Dean's walk there lasted only half an hour but it was enough to let his stomach wake up for good and demand a meal so he was really glad to see the small, dilapidated building that promised some warmth and food he needed so much.

When Dean finally crossed the small square, walking between two rusty distributors and saw his reflection in the glass door, he frowned at the scruff covering his cheeks. Depressing how hard it was to take care of some daily problems while being constantly on the road.

Inside the building was a tiny shop with products typical for every gas station and, thank God, a small bar counter with three high stools out of which one was already occupied. The scent of hot dogs and coffee drew a loud rumble from Dean's belly and he blushed, embarassed even though no one spared him a single look.

Apart from the man who was sitting turned back to Dean, there was a cashier present in the shop. He was a young guy with brown hair and _no-fucks-left-to-give-sorry_ written on his face. His expression made Dean feel like an intruder but he sat down on one of the free stools anyway. The cashier gave him a bored look.  
"Erm..." Dean grunted, his voice a bit rusty. "Can I have a hot dog and a cup of coffee, please?"  
The guy didn't even bother to say a single word, he just disappeared in the storage room.

"Such a radiant dude, huh?" Dean jumped up a little, hearing a voice so close to his ear.  
It was the other customer who decided to speak so Dean turned to him, trying to hide how shaky he had become because of such a perfectly normal sound like a human voice.  
"He's probably having a bad morning..." he muttered, his eyes suddenly locked with a pair of baby-blues.  
The stranger seemed to be at least as fatigued as Dean, if not worse, with his dark hair messy like a birds' nest and somehow sleepy a smile.  
"I guess we are all in the same shit then..." he chuckled silently. "I'm Castiel, for friends Cas." his smile was warmer than the sun on that early morning.  
"Dean." Dean managed to smile weakly in response.  
They shook hands and Dean could feel Castiel shiver a little at his cold touch, immediately hating himself for causing any discomfort to his new friend.

In the meantime the cashier came back with a vaporous cup and placed it before Castiel. Dean couldn't help looking at it with a desire increased by the rich, tasty smell.  
Castiel noticed him eyeing the white porcelain and slid the cup towards him without hesitation. Dean frowned looking at the coffee and then at the other man.  
"You obviously need it more than I do." Castiel shrugged nonchalantly. "I can wait a minute longer."  
Dean wanted to protest but somehow the words got stuck in his throat so he just kept staring at Castiel with big eyes.  
"Seriously, drink it." Castiel encouraged him with a slight bow of his head.  
"Thanks." Dean kept an eye on him while slowly raising the cup and taking a sip. "It's delicious..." he whispered with shock.

Castiel laughed silently, the sound warm like a touch of the first bolder sunrays that started falling through the glass windows. His eyes fell shut as he chuckled and when he opened them back, the striking blue hitting Dean with a new force, his own coffe was in front of him, steaming and as aromatic as Dean's.  
He took a sip and made a delighted noise of approval that sounded a lot like a cat's purr. Dean observed his features relax visibly at the pleasurable sensations. There was this specific natural beauty in the sight that made Dean feel a sudden and familiar urge to paint Castiel just like that, with a cup so small in his hands yet having the power to make him look like there was nothing better on this world than this piece of porcelain and the magical liquid it contained.  
"Can I draw you?" he asked silently, unable to deny himself a chance.  
"Draw? Me?" Castiel looked at him with surprise.  
"Yeah." Dean felt  a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

It wasn't like he hadn't asked people to let him draw them before. In fact, he did that quite often. This or he sketched the portraits secretly from a distance.  
People were usually honestly interested in seeing themselves as works of art so they were agreeing without hesitation in most cases.  
Castiel obviously couldn't be 'most cases' though.  
"Honestly, I didn't think you were an artist..." there was an undertone of mischievous irony in Castiel's voice.  
"Well, I don't see anyone with a regular job strolling through some old gas stations in the middle of nowhere without a car." Dean snored, unsure if he should feel offended or not.  
Castiel rolled his eyes, chuckling silently. "Gas station, no car... Guess I'm an artist too. If you can call what I do any kind of work." he muttered and then added louder. "You can paint me although I don't see anything interesting in myself and this particular cup of coffee, Dean."  
"Thank you." Dean grunted. "I just... draw or paint people and things I come across..." he took out a sketchbook and a pack of charcoal out of his backpack.  
That sentence got Castiel's special attention.  
"So... you have a journal made out of your works?" he asked.  
"Yes, I guess you can look at it that way." Dean glanced at Castiel, frantically drawing thick and thin lines to capture the fleeting moment.  
"Can I see it?" Castiel tried to sound natural while his heart started beating faster.

Dean was an unexpected gift from heavens. He was like a wind of change, a new breath of life, with his fascinating beauty and bizzare aura of a real wanderer, a person truly driven by wanderlust, an artist roaming through the land. Castiel felt a new idea slowly blooming in his mind from the very first moment his eyes fell on the freckled skin of this mysterious stranger, he needed to get to know so badly.

"Surely. Just let me finish this first." Dean stuck his tongue out a little, concentrating on the hair, trying to make his drawing do their messiness justice. "What kind of artist are you?"  
"I'm a writer." Castiel watched Dean's hands leave bold lines on the paper. "I'm writing a book on travelling artists actually. That's why I'm here in the first place. I travel to experience the wanderlust and inspiration myself." he absently took another sip of his coffee.

The cashier came back with Dean's hot dog but Dean was too engulfed by his work to feel his hunger any longer. Castiel felt admiration growing in his heart for Dean seemed to be born to do this. Not only because his work was already stunning even when still in progress but even more because of the way he cut the whole world off, fixed on the process, his brow furrowed and green eyes twinkling with liveness and a fire of true passion.

Castiel was so mesmerized he almost missed Dean talking to him.

"I travel because..." the moment of hesitation was short but it definitely was there. "I couldn't paint at home. It's better to be constantly in motion, there are so many beautiful things I wouldn't see, if I stayed..." he pulled out a little box of pastels and took out a few different shades of blue. "...and so many beautiful people I wouldn't have met." he looked Castiel in the eye, surprising him.

Castiel couldn't help feeling slightly embarassed by his miserable attempts to write something interesting while ignoring people he could have talked to on his way. Dean was right, humans were what made stories special. Not even the deepest author's reflections could make a book worth reading.  
Dean was a proof himself.  
Castiel couldn't help desiring to know the story behind Dean's journey. The real one that could be dark and all kinds of wrong as Castiel had a bad feeling in his gut. It was making Dean even more fascinating though, as if his amazing talent and beautiful, sad eyes weren't enough to make him a mystery Castiel would like to solve.

Dean didn't notice any changes in Castiel's posture as those thoughts were running through his head, he was creating a vivid image of Castiel's eyes, reflecting all the tones just the way they were in the reality in front of him until his insanely accurate sketch was ready and he could cover it with a spray he digged from his backpack.  
Dean's fingers were black and blue just like the spot on his nose he scratched. The smile on his face as he finished and raised the notebook to show it to Castiel was so genuinely joyful, Castiel smiled back before he even took a look at the work.

When he finally did, his eyes went wide.

The accuracy was brilliant in every detail, the picture looking like something one would need few hours not minutes to create. The steam raising from the cup was almost moving on the paper but the part which was much more shocking were the eyes.  
They were the only colorful element of the picture, standing out in the grey palette from behind the half-closed eyelids of the protrayed version of Cas. They were strangely hypnotizing and luring, exactly not how Castiel had always imagined them, never thinking of himself anywhere near appealing. He couldn't say a word, fighting the urge to hide from embarassment since he had never felt like a mysterious man Dean painted him.

"Do you like it?" Dean asked with uncertainty.  
"It's... It's..." Castiel couldn't find a right word. "Wow. Just wow. I'm at loss of words." he admitted, feeling like a great failure of a writer, his vocabulary narrowed down to 'wow'.  
Dean smiled sheepishly and Castiel couldn't help wondering whether Dean had ever drawn an autoportrait and if it was even halfly as striking as his vision of Castiel.  
Dean shyly lowered his head and picked his hot dog to finally eat it, not caring for his fingers still being covered in colour. The modesty in his posture made Castiel realise there was no way he could see himself the way he saw Cas and the way Cas saw him.  
Castiel couldn't draw. He wouldn't manage to produce an acceptable picture of a beach ball even threatened with death but surely he could describe that damned ball in hundreds of ways.

He wanted to write Dean as he saw him.

The words had just started to form in his head, when Dean suddenly spoke, deconcentrationg him for good.  
"You can see the other works now, if you still want to." he said, not looking at Castiel.  
"Oh, surely. Thank you, Dean." he muttered and turned the sketchbook to the first page to find a pastel drawing of the border of Kansas, a sign with the name of the state in the center.  
There was a touch of the sadness to that work, clearly painted with colours of joy and the intent to remember.  
"Kansas is where I come from." Dean said silently although Castiel hadn't uttered a word trying to figure out the feelings radiating from the page.  
"Ah..." was all he could say, forcing himself to move on to the next drawing.  
"My brother Sam." Dean didn't have to look to know what Castiel was having in front of him.

He didn't want to look.

And so they went slowly through the whole notebook up to Castiel's portrait.  
"It is your story..." Castiel whispered, really impressed by Dean's skills but somehow overwhelmed by the sadness creeping up from Dean's drawings.  
"A part of it." Dean admitted, shrugging and still avoiding Castiel's gaze.  
"It's really sad in its beauty." Castiel couldn't help those words escaping his mouth.

It was as if Dean's whole being cut off from his body. Suddenly his eyes were cold and posture defensive. He was ready to protect the part of him he didn't wish to share.  
Castiel felt his heart sink at the sight so he shut himself up with the last drops of his coffee, pretending he hadn't noticed Dean's sudden passive aggression and changing the topic.  
"Where are you heading to?" he asked quickly.  
"South." Dean almost barked, threat hidden right underneath the facade of normal politeness.  
Castiel nodded his head, staring into the empty cup and wondering what to do as he had obviously accidentaly screwed up the fragile bond that was forming between them.  
That was a touch of a warm palm on his shoulder caught him by surprise.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean's eyes weren't threatening any more. "I didn't mean to be so harsh. It just... There are things I don't really wanna talk about."  
"It's okay, I shouldn't have said that." Castiel smiled apologeticaly.  
"No, no, you had a right to comment." Dean shook his head sadly. "You weren't nosy or anything. I'm just a jerk."  
"Being polite as I am, I can't disagree." Castiel risked going for a comic relief, wishing to see joy in Dean's eyes again.

It worked.

Dean snorted, taking his hand off Castiel's shoulder and leaning back a bit.  
"You are an asshat sometimes." he grinned.  
"Never said I wasn't one." Castiel winked, feeling a weight taken off his chest.  
"Riiight..." Dean rolled his eyes. "I told you about my plans so where are **you** going, mister Castiel Asshat?" he asked, his eyes sparkling cheerfully again, enlightened by sunrays that finally reached the corner they were sitting in.  
"Funny thing it is." Castiel looked at him, cocking his head. "I am travelling south too."


End file.
